


Just a Drummer

by NorthwesternInsanity



Category: Music RPF, The Moody Blues (Band)
Genre: Angst, Breakup, Fighting, Gen, feeling underappreciated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 00:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15897213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwesternInsanity/pseuds/NorthwesternInsanity
Summary: Mike loses his temper and says something regrettable. Graeme is hurt. John tries in vain to settle it down, but Mike's blowup is the least of the pain, as both Graeme and John know what it inevitably means. Set during the writing sessions for Octave prior to Mike Pinder's departure of the band





	Just a Drummer

Mike hadn't meant to say it.

When he said it, he felt his entire world freeze solid, then move in slow motion as it went up in flames and crash down around him.

He could feel as it tore through the others and settled in a shock as he grasped for the reason why he'd said it.

Yes, Graeme had been repeatedly interrupting him when he was trying to write with Justin, and he was trying to explain out an idea on his mellotron. Graeme had continued to interrupt so that Mike couldn't get out a sentence even after he'd told Graeme to stop twice already. Maybe Graeme had it coming, but Mike never intended to say it the way he had.

And yet now it was ringing in the air around them, just out of his mouth within two seconds and already wreaking havoc.

_"For pity's sake, Graeme, will you shut up?! You're just a drummer!"_

Justin was the first to move, though even his reaction was slightly delayed, as if he'd been petrified. He reflexively stepped back from the table with the weirdest expression, mildly fazed and almost exasperated with dread. His eyes didn't widen, but more or less went dizzy and listless looking as he stepped back, before refocusing and settling on Mike with a stern look of disappointment.

John flinched and sharply turned from where he sat on the other side of the room to look at Mike, stricken with horror and disbelief.

Graeme's eyes did widen, and they fixed Mike with a look that made his gut drop.

Graeme looked as though he wasn't quite sure whether to be shocked, angry, or hurt. Whatever it was, it was one of the worst sight Mike had seen, and he had no one but himself to blame for why he'd seen it.

Before Mike could say anything, Graeme turned swiftly on his heels and left the room, slamming out of it and into another area of the studio.

The loud, resonating slam of the door only thickened the air more.

From where he sat with John, Ray bit his lip and fidgeted uncomfortably. He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes said it all.

_Ohhh, dear..._

Mike's eyes reflected Ray's in that thought.

John got up and walked over to the door that Graeme had slammed behind him. He opened it quietly and carefully, sticking his head out of the doorway to glance down the hall. Nobody in sight. Graeme had already disappeared out of the hallway to some other room.

Justin smirked nervously, not sure what else to do but to continue until Graeme decided to come back from wherever he'd gone. He cleared his throat, then picked up his guitar.

"Well, then."

John looked at Mike, still somewhat disbelieving. His voice came softly, almost inhibited by the tension in the room.

"You've hurt his feelings, Mike."

Mike groaned, his head aching and throbbing.

"You don't think I know that, Rocker? I feel bloody awful, and it's not like I can take it back now, but if I could-!"

Justin held up his hand, palm facing Mike like a traffic cop.

"There's no point in saying it now. Let's get back to where we were. What were you suggesting to me?"

John turned to Mike.

"I'll go see if I can find him and talk to him."

Mike looked at John desperately. "Please," he approved of John, before turning back to Justin, trying to recollect his fleeting idea that was already fading from his thoughts and consumed by his dreadful mistake.

John stepped out into the hall, beginning the process of looking through doorways and around corners, until he could find wherever Graeme had gone off to.

He walked to the end of the hall, finding no sign of Graeme, and turned around to look back into the rooms for the ones which had doors in them leading to other rooms on the other side of them.

Finally, John noted one which the door across the room was cracked open. He went into the room, softly approaching the door.

Graeme sat on top of a table within the office, back to the door, legs folded in, silently brooding as he glowered straight at the wall ahead of him.

Never in his life did he expect to be as upset at Mike Pinder as he was in this moment. But then, never did he expect that Mike -level-headed, mystic-minded, soft spoken Mike -would be the first one to threaten the stability of the band.

"Ey," came a soft voice around the doorframe.

"Just bugger off," growled Graeme.

"Gr-Graeme?"

"Go away, Lodge!" Graeme shouted.

There was a moment's silence as the drummer felt the bassist's eyes boring into his back from the doorway, exuding concern.

His voice trembled.

"Just go away, John."

Silence.

Then, soft footsteps crossing the floor. Going against his order.

Graeme squeezed his eyes shut, wishing it would all just disappear and that nothing had happened.

Two hands softly came down on his shoulders. He could practically feel the presence vibrating against his back.

"Graeme-"

Graeme whirled around on the table to face John and slung his legs over the front edge of the table, finger pointed threateningly.

John jumped back and gasped, but didn't even get the tiniest noise out before Graeme lit into him.

"Now that's enough, and I mean it for goodness' sake! Bloody hell, all I ask is to be left alone! You'd think it wouldn't be so hard, eh?! After all, I'm 'only a drummer'! And then there's the bloody bass player, who I guess isn't satisfied where he is as only a bass player who nobody notices or cares about even if he is above me, since he can't stop getting himself where he's not welcome and just bugger the fuck off! You would think he ought not want anything to do with the drummer too!"

He ended his statement, putting his hand down in his lap and pulling in his index finger to clench a completed first, continuing to fix John with his glowering death glare.

At first, John simply looked shocked. He was at a total loss for how to react. Then, his face fell, but it wasn't in a way of hurt like it had been for Graeme in response to Mike. It was just sadness. Pure sadness. Sympathy too, perhaps. Maybe a degree of disbelief mixed in, but it was more sadness directed at Graeme.

It seemed foreign, the usually gentle, lighthearted expression settling to a downturned mouth. His eyes were soft and bewildered, and Graeme could have sworn he saw the reflection of the light shining in the corners more than it should have.

"Oh, Graeme," started John. His voice was heartbreakingly crestfallen and barely a whisper. "Mate. No. You don't mean any of that. You really don't mean it. You know that's not true about yourself."

Graeme felt his heart twist, and his glare sank down to a crestfallen shadow to reflect John's.

"No, Rocker. No. I don't. Good heavens, John, I'm sorry for that, mate. I don't mean that about you either, honest, I-"

"You're upset." John sat down on the edge of the table next to Graeme and placed his hand back on the drummer's shoulder, resting his forearm down his back. "I understand."

Graeme sighed deeply, his tensed muscles loosening slightly.

"John... Don't think for a second that any of what I said about you was true -I don't know what got into me-"

"-I know exactly what it was." John shook his head. "They were the exact words said to you, and with what they meant to you added to them. They made you feel insignificant, you needed to throw them out, and I was the first one there for it. If it was Ray in here with you right now, you'd have said the same thing about him as a flautist. I suppose this was playing with fire on my part."

"You're not insignificant, Rocker. I'm only half the rhythm section, and the others are only three fourths of the vocals. I'm the least part of it."

John's arm lifted off from Graeme's shoulder. He whispered intensely, his eyes shifting to a more despairing agitation.

"Graeme Edge, _how dare you_ say that! I need you there on that stage just as much as you need me there, and as much as Justin needs you there -and Ray and Mike need you there too! And _where_ in this world would we get the poetry for our definitive bridge tracks without your pen in hand?!"

Graeme looked John in his uncharacteristically sad eyes again.

A second later, he found himself wrapping his arms around the younger man and pulling him in toward himself. He felt John's arms lock around him in return.

"You're as important as any of us, Graeme. Don't ever say that again about yourself, you bloody twat," John moaned.

Graeme found himself chuckling lightly at the bassist's muffled words as they pulled apart. It was unlike John to use derogatory terms directly to somebody unless he really meant whatever he'd said before it and was doing so for emphasis.

"Oh, dear. I suppose I'd best not then. No, I won't say it again. Ta, John."

"And Graeme?" asked John, expression softening in a more inquisitive way than the sadness before it. "You do know that Mike didn't mean it either, don't you? He really didn't -he was frustrated and he said it, but he instantly regretted it."

Graeme's expression hardened again.

"I can understand him telling me to shut up. But for him to say what he did following it with nothing to prompt it, he must mean it to a degree. Somewhere inside him, that's what he thinks."

"I know he wasn't triggered to say it to you like you were to me, but frustration can pull out weird thoughts that are far from true, Graeme. You've got to understand that Mike respects you and wishes he'd never said it," argued John. "He's in the other room and he's terribly sorry."

"Just because he wishes he hadn't said it doesn't mean he doesn't think it," retorted Graeme. "It's not as if he's on the same page with us anyway. You've heard him saying he doesn't want to tour as much on this one, and would prefer no touring all together. How long before he can't stand any of us?"

John wilted defeatedly.

"I can't speak for him on the latter part. As for the former... Well, choose to believe me or not. But don't believe it about yourself, and please don't ever say it again. Please." And with that, he left the room.

John got halfway back before running into Mike in the hall.

"Is he alright?" asked Mike, ridden with concern

John shook his head, crestfallen.

"He's quite upset, Mike. I don't know what else to tell you. I know you didn't mean it, but he's not ready to believe that. And in truth, I don't think that's what really has him upset at you. It's just the top surface."

Mike shook his head painfully.

"I don't think I can do it anymore, John. Not the way we've been doing it. I just _can't."_

This time, John sighed deeply.

"Well..." he started.

He wished nothing more than for Mike to stay. But even if John were to come to terms with backing off of touring as often, which with his side projects wouldn't have been hard, Ray didn't necessarily want to stop. Graeme clearly didn't want to stop. And telling Justin to stop touring as often would have been a sure as fire way to pull the blazing temper out of him faster than anything else.

John gulped hard.

"...We'll see how it goes."

Already, a heavy tension was layering itself over them like dark clouds.

Everyone -John, Mike, and Graeme especially -already knew how it was going to go.

And the clock for Mike Pinder's time with The Moodies was ticking faster and faster towards its end.


End file.
